


Forever Waiting (But Not Anymore)

by williamastankova



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M, Pretty SFW, Surprise Kissing, a little implication otherwise at the end tho?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Based both off of the 3x12 when Will finds out Hannibal is in love with him, an a very Hannigram-esque quote by Caitlyn Siehl that goes as follows:"'When is a monster not a monster?''Oh, when you love it.'"





	Forever Waiting (But Not Anymore)

"Is Hannibal..." Will can't believe he's going to say it. After so many weeks, months, years of denial, shoving the subconscious thought down to the pit of his rioting stomach, the words can finally form in this safe space. "In love with me?"

"Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you?" Her question is roundabout, but Will thinks he knows the answer instinctively, even before she finishes with a plain, "Yes."

He wants to throw up instantaneously. It feels like Hannibal's knife is back, buried into his stomach, deeply rooted within him. He knows he can't take it out, however, because in doing so he'd kill himself; he's too far into this now to ever even think about backing out. Bedelia speaks once more.

"But do you ache for him?"

He can't form words. Stringing a sentence together to answer her - either way, yes or no - seems impossible, and he thinks that he might just collapse and never get back up again. He might die in Bedelia's beautiful, ornate room, and Hannibal won't ever feel the pleasure of ripping the life from him. Then again, with the newly acquired information, Will isn't sure that's what he wants after all.

She poses a good question. Does he? Could he live a life without Hannibal in it? He supposes he already did, but that was different. That was a few years, which is admittedly a record, but he still came back. Even after Molly, after everything they'd been through, after falling in love with and marrying her, he still came back to Hannibal. Surely that had to mean something, even if he didn't know what right then and there.

"Are you familiar with the works of Caitlyn Siehl, Will?" Bedelia breaks his focus, slipping into his mind and pulling the cord of his thought. He shakes his head at her, prompting her to go on, "I believe you'd benefit from reading some of her work."

"Maybe I would," Will says absently, making a note to check it out, but then putting said note into the very background of his mind; he had more important matters to attend to first.

"'When is a monster not a monster?'" It takes Will a confused moment to realise she must be quoting the aforementioned writer, "'Oh, when you love it.'"

She recites the passage with such eloquence and grace - all natural to her, though something is different this time around - that it's like she's preaching the Bible. She stares at him meaningfully the whole time, and he feels a chill run down his spine. He wants to hear more, and never wants her to speak again: he can't deal with this now. It seems, however, that he doesn't have a choice.

"Does that sound familiar to you, Will?" She asks rhetorically, smirking a little at her own cleverness, "Do you view him as a monster?"

"Yes," he says, forced to do so by instinct, and he chooses to ignore the falling of his heart as he says so, "he's the greatest monster I've ever met. He's dangerous, and conniving, and pure evil."

"Well, I wouldn't quite say that," Bedelia sounds like his father, scolding him gently, when he'd done something just slightly wrong. "I think we both know you don't think quite so lowly of him."

Will can only scoff. He's never been good with dealing with people when they call his bluff, so he builds up a wall. For the remainder of their session, he gives short answers, and doesn't elaborate on anything unless explicitly asked to do so. When he's finally free, he grabs his coat and hastily leaves, barely shooting back a 'thanks' to Bedelia, who doesn't seem offended nor surprised in the least.

He takes the drive home, trying desperately to rid his mind of the thoughts racing around it, yet he can't quite manage to. It's all he thinks about for the longest time - even when he sleeps, he pictures Hannibal's face. There's some times when it's just the two of them, back in Hannibal's office, sat across from each other, deep in conversation. They laugh occasionally, but primarily it's the two of them facing off against each other.

Other times, though... other times are different. In his darkest hours (and, usually, when he's sleeping, having lost control, at nighttime) he dreams of Hannibal in a different light. There's times he won't even admit were real - not even to himself - but the other, sweeter times he can bare thinking about. Even if it repulses him to think of such a man in a lighter way, how he feels when his mind conjures up the images of them intertwined, embracing, kissing... it's undeniable.

Will puts up with these thoughts, for as long as he can bear. But then, after everything, now they're finally alone after having taken the plunge and come out on the other side, alive and together, he doesn't suppose there's much else to do.

It's one day, when they've got nothing in particular to do, that he decides it's time. He and Hannibal have made their home in a quaint little village in the middle of nowhere, in the English countryside. It's funny, he thinks, because Hannibal so often recounted to him of how his secretary had 'run off to the United Kingdom to be with a lover' (a story that, though he enjoyed it, he still could not validate). Now, as they were, they would soon be in a similar situation, albeit a little different. Will simply hoped all would go to plan from here on out; he couldn't quite imagine having to live on the run alone.

"Hannibal," he calls to their house, not quite sure if Hannibal's home yet. He enjoys the echo his voice makes, and only then does he hear the unmistakable noise coming from the kitchen. He checks his watch: lunchtime.

He says nothing more as he slips down the hallway, through the archways and inadvertently fills his lungs with the scent of their newly painted walls. It burns, but he still smiles when he sees Hannibal all but dancing around their kitchen, cooking their meal. It doesn't seem that he's seen Will, nor heard him. At least, that is, not yet.

"Hannibal," Will calls again, quieter and softer this time, and his insides flutter when Hannibal finally turns around to look at him, dark eyes all aglow as he enjoys his hobby.

"Will," he greets him, saying his name like a prayer, like he always does, "how was your day out?"

"Good, good," Will raises his eyebrows and lets them fall of their own accord, meanwhile stripping himself of his jacket and placing it neatly over the back of one of the dining room table chairs. Hannibal's eyes, he notices, follow the movement. He fights the urge to smirk at him knowingly. "What are you making?"

The small talk is killing him, but he knows it'll be worth it. If he can get Hannibal off of his trail, even just a little, it'll make the moment just that little bit more special. He keeps telling himself this as he buries his hands in his pockets and leans against the sink, watching Hannibal watch him suspiciously, obviously sensing something strange.

"Lunch," Hannibal answers ambiguously, "Lucielle Carpenter, the dentist that bumped into you last weekend."

"How rude," Will toys with him, grinning malevolently.

"Very," Hannibal's features turn dark as he looks at him, and it seems the shift in tone has thrown him off momentarily. He drops Will's gaze and returns to his cooking, bending his knees to check on the oven, blissfully unaware of Will's feather-light movement across the kitchen floor.

He's on a mission, and he has no time to lose. He's waited so very long to do this - longer than he's waited for anything, and he likes to consider himself a patient man. He's denied himself the pleasure, pretended like the desire wasn't there, all to lead him here, now, where he stops before Hannibal and, when the older man stands back up and turns around to face him, he kisses him square on the mouth.

If he's completely honest with himself, he's a little off with his aim. He knows it's probably just because of the awkward angle, being unable to plan exactly how he was going to kiss Hannibal, but it still frustrates him. He lets a barely-there, animalistic noise out from deep within him, displaying his upset, and digs up his hands from his pockets. He uses them to grip Hannibal's face, resting on his jawline, holding him firmly in place so he can plant kisses on his lips, and all over him, as he wishes.

Hannibal immediately falls pliant to him. Even so, it doesn't feel awkward. He doesn't feel like he's kissing a statue, nor a dead fish. It feels undeniably real, and the want is real, at least on Will's side. The only thing that he dislikes, so to speak, is how submissive Hannibal is being with him. What with him being a murderous cannibal and all, Will had thought - and so often did he think - that he'd offer some sort of fight.

Seeming to read his mind, Hannibal's hands immediately appeared at his sides, and his lips began pressing back against Will's, hard. The familiar chill runs down Will's spine as he does so, and then suddenly they're moving. Hannibal's walking him backwards, and he gasps when his back hits the sink. Hannibal, surprisingly strong, almost manages to lift him up completely, bringing him to sit on the counter-top, hands still gripping his hips.

Hannibal's just about to kill him through severe lack of oxygen when he finally pulls back, bordering on breathless himself, and dips his head beside Will's, not daring to lose the accumulated heat they've gained together. Will can practically hear the want oozing from his voice, turned dark chocolate with lust, when he speaks.

"I could have you right now, you know," he warns, dark and macabre. Will shivers, slipping his arms around his neck and pulling him closer, so the sides of their faces touch.

"Eat me, you mean?" He asks teasingly, though he can't pretend his act doesn't drop as soon as Hannibal's hands claw down his sides, slipping beneath his shirt.

The doctor plants a kiss to his cheek, deft and so light Will almost doesn't notice it there. There's a moment of silence in which Will considers a thousand possibilities (ranging from 'Hannibal's having second thoughts' to 'he's gone and died on me') before the comfortable silence is broken, and the other man is speaking into his ear - solely to him, forgetting the rest of the world - again.

"Not quite."


End file.
